


Alone at Night

by percyval



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Enemies to Friends, F/M, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Pining, Recreational Drug Use, Teenage Rebellion, The Least Gay Thing You'll Read Totally, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-24 03:39:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7492008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/percyval/pseuds/percyval
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We've become the odd-couple; two people who could never feasibly get along in any situation forced together due to the universe aligning just perfectly. Yet he seems to have no clue that I hate him.</p><p>-</p><p>It's like that movie, the Odd-Couple? The one where those two guys are forced together and become friends. Though, I can say that I really do like him, and that it may be deeper than "he's my good friend."</p><p>-</p><p>By day we're simply two guys who never speak to each other or acknowledge each other in the halls. But, by night, we come together and get into all sorts of mischief while under the cloak of darkness. And our friendship is based off of multiple minor crimes and running away from the cops while screaming to the sky.</p><p>(Note: As of 20th July 2016, this story is on hiatus. Possibly permanent.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alone at Night

**Author's Note:**

> I think this fic started life as a Hartwin fic but then it totally lended itself to being Charlie and Eggsy so let us go on my friends. I'm sorry I have to be like this. But I watched 'Vampire Academy' and was like "Y'know, only Aaron and Oscar are likable and slowly Edward Holcroft is becoming actually pretty attractive in his own right?" So this is why I've become a fucking ho for all three of his goddamn characters I've seen so far. It just so happens I'm a Kingsman ho at heart so I gotta write some of this bullshit. If you don't like Cheggsy I don't blame you as he is a total dick and Eggsy doesn't deserve that bullshit. However my shipper heart just says "you gotta." So I gotta. As I continue writing this up my nails have a small polish mountain on them and I may utterly destroy them while writing this but who cares, I have enough disco ball polish to last me three more mountains. Anyway, I was supposed to be warning you that Charlie and Eggsy aren't going to hate each other through this whole fic. Beware of that. On with this bullshit.

"I hear he's gone to the police station this time!"

"This has to be his best idea ever!"

"Ooo, check his Snapchat!"

Millions of repetitive statements grace me as I enter the room. On any normal day it'd be just as loud in here, but every conversation would be scattered and random. Ramblings about some celebrity or whatever they took at some party I hadn't heard of until that very word. Yet, today is different.

Today, the class clown, Gary Unwin, has gone and fucked himself again.

I can't catch what he did, but it was major enough for him to get carried off to the police station. We all know he'll be out by tomorrow, and we all know that he's going to come back with stories to tell of what he did. But it seems as though no one else feels that way.

They're making it out to be some big deal. Like he's going to get arrested and he's going to be put in prison. Incarcerated. A stupid fifteen year old is going to be incarcerated. Likely.

Gary, or 'Eggsy,' has the wit of a person who cannot properly use sarcasm, and the actual intelligence of someone half his age. Given his upbringing, he should be incredibly bright. I heard he was a gymnast, and he always gets high marks while he's actually in school. But I feel like that's an urban legend. Eggsy is not the type to really get high marks yet never come to class.

Unlike some of us, he doesn't pay attention and spends his time flirting or on his phone. Wasting his education, really. At least I know to be serious about school.

My brother works at the police station, I could easily ask him what happened that got Eggsy into a cell for the day. Drugs, drinking and driving, driving at all? I don't know, but at the same time, I am really starting not to care.

In this school, I do not have a friend. Unlike an academy, no one here is cultured and highly intelligent. Every day I'm emotionally worn because I'm not being challenged, by giving into some of the lowest expectations I've ever seen in my whole life. Just showing up to class warrants ten per cent of everyone's grade.

At present, I am the only person in this whole class that could even possibly be described as "smart." I'm the only one that turns in homework, that does extra credit assignments, that actually gives a fuck and cares how I do in school. I easily become the teacher's pet every year, and this year is no different.

As the teacher enters the room, she surveys the class with a blank expression. Though, a smile presses creases into her face when her eyes meet mine. I don't do anything, actually. I just stare ahead at the board, hoping class will just get over with as soon as possible.

"Quiet, quiet, we all know what happened to our fellow student. We need to pick up on our lecture, though, and I'd suggest you listen. Or keep the volume down on your phones." She whispers that last bit.

Ms. Morgan isn't entirely deplorable, she's just trying her best while going through a rough divorce. I have seen her cry through a box of tissues in an hour during lunch break, and she will leave class whenever she feels like it to scream in the staff bathroom. Somehow this hasn't alarmed anyone and hasn't gotten her fired, likely because of the circumstances of her state. I try to be as indifferent as possible just so she doesn't get any impression of me that would affect her any more. If I scoffed her off, she'd mark me down, but if I were to act like her friend, she'd confide in me. Neither option here is desirable.

So, I lean into my desk, hand resting on my cheek as I half-listen to her lecture about nationalism, something or other that I've already learned. More or less I tune it out as I focus on a girl and her friend sitting outside. They're on a concrete bench just beyond the chain-link fence separating the school from the real world. I can see their chests rising and falling quickly, and they grin to each other, raising their heads up as if they're shrieking or laughing.

I wonder if they had snuck out of class, and my suspicions are confirmed when they pick up their backpacks and dash off again. I catch a glimpse of their uniforms beneath insulated jackets. After a moment, a security guard comes chasing after them, and I lose sight.

"As many of us know, numerous first-world countries do display certain degrees of nationalism. Do you think nationalism is very popular here in London?"

Ms. Morgan addresses the whole class, but she does look at me, indicating that I have to answer her.

I raise my head up from my cheek, possibly leaving a red mark on my face, and look up at her, then round me. Sitting in the back, everyone has a clear view of me if they just crane their heads back. However, only three kids look up from their screens or from their conversations to set their eyes on me.

In most cases I would just shrug because no one was paying attention, but now I almost feel as if I have to show these kids exactly what advantage I had over them.

"It depends on the person you talk to. Personally I see absolutely no one my age rave about how they live in the UK, it's just another contributor to their character. But if it's someone older, they tend to go on about how much they love their country, because they seem to have nothing else good to talk about when it comes to their lives. It's like the only thing they have is their patriotism because the rest of them died when the world started changing round them. I don't know why they can't focus on anything else but it just boils down to 'I'm old and all I have left is the country I live in.'" I sort of let myself trail on until everyone's looked away and the teacher is grinning.

"Excellent observation. I must say, I agree with your point of view."

And then I stare back out the window, listening as she heaves a small sigh and continues on her lecture.

* * *

All anyone has to say at lunch is what they think happened to Eggsy. And all I want to do then is puke.

Typically, I'll wander the grounds during lunch then proceed to my next class, yet it seems like today this isn't the case. Grounds are locked down after those two girls escaped, and now none of us can leave the building unless we want to be closely monitored.

I'm stuck sitting amongst a crowd of six boys, all talking between large bites of faux-hamburger and watered-down chocolate milk.

"They're saying he got busted with weed. Sick stuff, mate."

"Someone took a pic on Instagram of some texts they'd sent him. He says he beat up his stepdad. Hear he's a dick."

All mindless chatter leading absolutely nowhere. I try to plug my ears and listen to music, anything to keep me from tearing these slobs a new one, but then one boy actually comes up with something I could get behind.

"You ever seen how he comes to school with bruises and hickeys and stuff? He mighta been caught whoring himself out. Chicks ain't the type to give hickeys."

I perk up, and decide I want to listen to this conversation.

"No way. Eggsy isn't some kinda fag. I ain't even seen him touch another guy."

"Not even his mates?"

"No, man. Eggsy's straight as a line. He can't be gay."

Another boy chimes in, bringing out his phone as evidence.

"There was this pic he had on his Snapchat a while ago."

I catch a small glimpse of the picture before it's turned out of my line of view. Eggsy, smirking into the camera with a naked torso in the background. Flat-chested torso, face obscured by poor lighting. There's a lightening bruise under his eye, and his lips are slight-pink and a little swollen.

"That can't be real. Probably one of his mates."

"Then what about his sex face?"

"I don't know, man. He probably just got done bangin' a chick."

They proceed to discuss other theories, but in my mind I've decided that this is the idea I like best.

Strange, honestly, to think that Eggsy isn't straight. But, who knows? Maybe he is and we're just all reading too deeply into it.

However, I'm quite set on using this against him the moment I see him in class again.

* * *

This time school felt like an eternity. I step through the threshold and find my dad lying on the couch, same position as he'd been when I left that morning.

"Nathan?" He croaks, it's obvious he's been drinking.

"No, Charlie."

"Oh. Tell Nathan that he still owes me £15."

"Sure, Dad."

Our conversations never last more than two exchanges.

I throw my book bag down on my bedroom floor and lock up my bedroom to anyone.

Ever since Dad lost his job, it's been hell on us to try to survive without tonnes of money. For the first fourteen years of my life I was rich, and nothing in my life mattered.

When I turned fifteen Dad's company shut down, and he failed miserable trying to save his earnings. Mum still works, but her job doesn't get her as much.

So, we moved into the estates. Ugly, dirty cement buildings all piled up on top of each other. Every apartment is big enough to just comfortably fit two people, but four people are living here. Most of the time Dad's sleeping on the couch, giving Mum the first bedroom, and my brother will sometimes share the second with me. When he's not at a girlfriend's place, at least.

Losing our house, moving, leaving behind all my friends and everything I was adjusted to, it was shitty. But I don't want to reduce myself down to these dumbasses who were born into bad situations. Because I know I'll be able to emerge from it again, and life will go back to how it was supposed to be.

My only way to cope is just to lock myself up and pretend I'm back at home, in the manor, lying in bed and falling asleep to the sound of light rainfall. However, all I can hear is a domestic dispute from the family upstairs.

Skin-on-skin, screaming, but nothing I can do that'll help the abused party. It'll just continue, an endless spiral.

My eyelids flutter, I try to drift asleep, but it's no use. I just lie on my back, staring up at a cracked ceiling wondering if and when it will collapse on me and kill me. But maybe that's too hopeful.

For now, I watch my feet sway at the edge of my bed. I think of nothing, because it's easier than coming to terms with the fact that I'm wasting another day alone and unhappy.

* * *

Last night I dreamed that my parents had won the lottery, and that we'd moved back into the old house. Nathan quit his police job and took back up his partying, and Mum smiled the first real smile any of us had had in months. Dad trimmed himself up, he looked back to how he was supposed to, and I fell back into my bed, and I was happy to be back in the safest place I ever knew.

It's cruel when we wake up from good dreams.

Nathan's trashed on my bedroom floor, trailing the stench of Poundland beer and some drug I can't trace. He ignores me when I step around him, and yawns deeply when I hit his foot with the edge of the door. Sometimes I really do hate him.

The bathroom's never clean, piled with filthy clothes we have to take to the washer and driers, toilet paper rolls, scum round the edge of the shower, overall it looks like a squatter had taken up shelter in an abandoned motel. And promptly left once it wasn't in pristine condition.

I brush my teeth, staring at my own face in the stained mirror as I do so. Dull eyes, pale face, thinner than it had been when we left. My face has creases in it where I haven't smiled for ages. I gag as the toothbrush reaches the back of my mouth, and spit the disgusting artificial mint taste out my mouth, with blood mixed into the white foam. It dribbles down the drain, and I continue to stand there for only a moment or two while I keep examining myself. When did I lose that fat in my face? Why do I look older with no wrinkles or lines burned into my skin? How long have I looked this dead?

As I lean in, moving my hand up to touch my face, the door collapses inward and my brother shoves me aside, to vomit into the loo. Of course.

I leave, rubbing my stomach where it hit the sink. Mum's left for work already, and it's up to me to make breakfast for myself and then leave for whatever reason.

There's no reason for me to go out. For one, there's no place that's walking distance. There's also the fact that I don't have any friends to go out with, and that I don't like going out in the first place.

Instead, I sit down in the living room, on the floor, watching TV while Dad snores on.

Whatever channel he had it on is playing some unfamiliar show. A man is discussing something in Swedish to a pregnant woman, and in the next scene he is snogging another man. With no one else around, or listening, I feel no reason to gag or express disgust. As the scene progresses, they end up in bed together, and I'm convinced that this isn't a show Dad would watch.

He's not the type to enjoy anything with a gay character in it, or any reference to homosexuality entirely. Unless it's some tired joke or overused stereotype. Then he eats it up and insists I sit down and watch it with him.

Honestly, I never really thought anything of gay people, but in the end I guess it's just gross unless you are gay yourself. But, I think the idea of sex in itself is kind of gross, so I normally just shut up about it.

In the next scene, the man is naked, and the other goes into the shower, beckoning him to follow. The main guy here doesn't want to, and he puts some SIM card in the guy's phone. After installing some software, he follows the guy into the bathroom, and I'm assuming they fucked in the shower, too.

What is this show?

After further analysis it's a DVD Dad was watching. Some American TV show called 'Mr. Robot.' It no longer interests me once I look up what it is.

I clean my dishes up, and go into my room to change.

Nathan is lying on my bed, looking through some magazines and other things that had been lying on my desk.

Once I've grabbed my clothes, it's only then I notice that he's watching me. So I stare back, of course.

"What're you looking at?"

"Your stuff. You do know all the books on your 'To-Read' list are pretty gay, right?"

I grimace at him.

"They aren't. That's just stuff required for class. Go complain to lesson-planners if you really have such a problem."

Nathan sighs, and gives me a look. One that entails a lecture or life lesson.

"You really can just tell us if you think you're gay, Charlie. No one's going to give a fuck. Except Grandma. She'll give every fuck." He laughs, and leans back, now picking out notes and things I'd written to myself.

"Why are you going through my things?" My voice is becoming harsher.

"You never talk to us about what's going on, it's easier to just browse through your stuff and see what you're on bout. You're really focused on this 'Eggsy' kid." He reads over a passage I'd written last night in a sleepy hase.

" _I know that it doesn't matter why Eggsy was arrested, but I still think it has something to do with his whorish tendencies. Probably blew an officer to get off. I might not be right on this, but I'm pretty sure he might be a rent boy_."

Nathan laughs, then glances over at me.

"That little cunt is out, just a noise complaint from his neighbor. We never keep him in the station, not worth the time."

"Oh. That's a little-"

"Disappointing. Yeah, it would have been more intriguing if he had been selling himself."

"Yeah."

He reads over a couple more notes, likely both about Eggsy, and he smirks, getting up to leave my room.

"If you two ever end up getting together at least you'll have me vouching for his innocence to Mum and Dad." He slams the door shut behind him, and I stand in the middle of my room, slightly irritated.

I take the notes, I crumple them up and throw them out, ripping them up once I decide I don't like seeing them whole.

Fucking Nathan. He doesn't need to know what I think of one of my stupid classmates. That's why I write at all, to vent my frustrations to no one and rip them to shreds once I decide I don't need to vent anymore.

Eggsy has been a target of my venting for a long time, and I'm certain that if we'd ever had a proper conversation that we'd both despise each other equally. First day of school he rubbed me the wrong way, so positive and so fucking stupid. He had a bunch of vapid friends at the beginning of the school year, and now he's down to nearly no friends, but hundreds of followers on social media. There, they hang onto every word and worship him like a god, for no reason at all.

I mean, I understand why the girls like him. He's not exactly ugly, and he can be charming when he wants to be. Like the aforementioned Snapchat with his hair tousled, teeth grazing his bottom lip, the literal "I just had sex" look smeared cross his red-tinted face. Wonder how many girls had seen that face staring down at them while he dove into them, with likely no protection. How would it feel to sleep with the school legend?

I decide to let my thought derail before I make myself furious.

In between little rants to myself about Eggsy, I hear my brother step back into the room.

"I could get you his phone number, if you want to tell him how you feel about him." His voice is teasing, and I'd gladly beat him over the head with that smug fucking smirk plastered on his face.

"I don't want to talk to him. He's a cunt, like you said. I won't waste any more time on him."

My brother shrugs, and leaves me to my ranting.

* * *

For whatever reason, I sit on the steps just outside our flat. The sun's already going down, and I spent the whole day complaining to myself about a boy I've never even properly talked to. I should just let my anger fizzle out and go about my life.

But, it's just so intriguing to think about what this guy is doing. Maybe if I weren't so intent on keeping up appearances I'd have an easier time at that school. Except, that's one of the only defenses I have left. No one will bother me if I make myself out to be cold and cruel, like I am. There'll be no optimist attempting to dig a positive personality out of me, insisting that I am, in fact, a good person beneath my rough exterior. I know I'm not a good person. There's no point in trying to cover that up. I'm a dickhead, like so many people before me have already said, and I know that there's no point leading people on with an alternate persona. I'm Charlie Hesketh, my character is being cruel and cold and rude to anyone who doesn't share my upbringing or I.Q.

I can't make anyone believe that I'm really a kind, thoughtful person. Because everyone already knows that I'm some worthless bastard who doesn't deserve their time. Rightfully so.

Eggsy doesn't need to keep up appearances like that. He acts within his character, he's friendly and nice and helpful. I've seen him get into fights with other boys in our class, but they had provoked him by bringing up his mum or insisting he's a rent boy. It's why I've never tried to talk to him, actually. I wouldn't be able to resist bringing up how he acts like a slut to any person who gives him the time of day. Figures, that he embodies his mother's low self-esteem as well.

I'm only a level up from Eggsy, he lives down a level and to the left three doors. So, he's basically my neighbor. I could easily go and initiate our first proper conversation and we'd both argue and bicker and that'd cheer me up. Yet, at the same time I honestly don't feel like I want to bother him when he's at home.

Everyone at school knows his bad situation, we all know his stepdad is psychotic and abuses him. His mum is constantly depressed and drunk, and he has a neglected little sister that he has to care for. So, really, there is no point in me bothering him when he has no means of cheering himself up afterward. I'm not cruel enough to let someone end their night depressed and numb-feeling, because it's one of the only feelings I can relate to with Eggsy and I know that no one deserves that. Especially at night. Most people end their nights sad and wishing they weren't alive, and I'm not going to do that to him.

Very considerate, Charlie. Almost too considerate, actually.

Despite my best intentions, I still go down there. I think my dad has been involved with Eggsy's stepdad. Ever since we moved here he's used recreational weed to calm his nerves ever other blue moon. If I play my cards right I can insist upon going in there and getting some more for my dad.

But, if I'm seen buying weed by Eggsy, there's no saying he won't tell the whole school I'm not the posh bitch I play myself up to be. That I'm low enough to buy weed from the stepfather of one of my worst enemies.

But would Eggsy do that? If I say something rude to him, he'll likely go and drop hints at it, making me out to be some stoner. But, if I'm indifferent, or even, dare I say it, kind to him, he'll likely let the whole thing slip. He might not even be awake this time of day, he might be upstairs napping, or sleeping off a welt on his side. I've seen the extent of Dean's abuse written all over Eggsy's body, mostly from little slip-ups in the locker room. Some nerd boys who can't gather the nerve to go talk to him will laugh and say "he deserved it," but I have half a mind not to say that with him listening.

There was an instance where I was entering the loo and Eggsy was curled up on the floor, probably sitting in a pool of piss, holding his face in his hands and shakily sobbing. I tried to walk as silently as possible into a stall as to avoid contact with him, but he did end up noticing me.

"Please don't tell anyone I'm here, yeah? The guys are gonna mock me if they see me cryin' like some fucking toddler."

I stand at the urinal, looking up at the ceiling as to refrain from any eye contact.

"If people knew who I was, I'd happily tell the whole school you're sobbing on the bathroom floor. But, my novelty wore off, no one even recognises me. So, there's no point in me ratting you out when no one even knows me."

He looks up at me, and I make the mistake of looking down at him. His face is blotchy, red, and a purple mark has settled on his cheekbone.

"I'll try to take that as a compliment."

We both wash our hands at the sinks, and I leave before he does. Somehow, no rumours flew when some of Eggsy's squad saw us leaving the bathroom together. More or less, they didn't even pick me out of the sea of lockers.

I stand at the door, breathing in cold air while I think to myself if I really want to do this.

Blowing this would cost me my reputation, and going too well would also ruin my reputation. There's no simple way I can win here. Even being totally indifferent while Eggsy's there means that he could more easily tell his friends that he saw me buying weed.

I knock on the door, and step back, hearing the lock turn on the other side.

Eggsy's mum is on the other side. She looks gloomy, as per usual, and her mascara is running down her face. There's a scar where something boiling touched her hand. And her bleached-blonde hair falls into her face. She uses her good hand to push away a lock of hair, and she gives me a weakened smile.

"Hello."

"Hi. Is Dean in?"

"No, he's at the pub. What are you here for?" She looks a little concerned.

"Oh, uhm, my dad sent me to buy some weed." I pull out some money I'd accumulated in my pocket, around £3, and hold it up. "As much as this can get me."

She pulls me inside, slowly, and closes the door.

"I'm not good with dealing, but you can ask my son. He picked up on it from his stepdad. Eggsy?" She yells up the stairs after him, and he comes down after a moment or two, pushing hair from his face and yawning.

"Yeah, Mum?" He asks, stretching an arm above his head before he notices me.

Once his eyes pass over me, he settles his arms at his sides, and blinks sleep from his eyes. He's obviously surprised I'd be here, and I'm confused as to why I'm here at all anymore. Now I have to interact directly with Eggsy.

"What's he doing here?" He gestures to me, no hint of hostility tints his voice.

His mum explains the situation, and every moment I stand here I feel increasingly more uncomfortable. It's like I just stepped in on some other family's drama, and it makes my stomach clench badly.

"How much have you got?" He turns to me, and approaches me.

I get to gawk a moment as I hold out the money. His bruises from a few days ago are beginning to turn yellow and fade, but he looks tired. The longer I look, the more I notice his face taking shape. Sharp jawline, arched eyebrows, carved-looking lips. I smile, and take his gaze again, to avoid suspicion.

"Not a lot I can give you for £3, mate. But, I'll let you come see what I can give you, alright?" He's acting entirely too professional, and once he's lead me up the stairs and into his bedroom, he drops the act.

Before he says another word, I inspect his room. It's not clean, but somehow cleaner than mine, also seems to be the same room as mine. Books, video games, DVDs all huddled on his shelves, positioned carefully to hide a smaller bong that sits near his computer. He looks over at me, and glances at his room.

"Sorry it's not cleaner. Why are you even here?" He crosses his arms over his chest, somehow looking both aggressive and timid all in one.

I furrow my brow, and give a small grimace at him. Already this isn't going well.

"Your mum said. I'm buying weed for my dad."

"Then why didn't he come down here and buy it for himself? Too lazy to do that anymore?"

He's taken on his own fierce kind of approach.

"No, he's asleep and I thought I'd surprise him. Just show me what you've got."

Eggsy huffs, and he pulls out a few baggies from his bedside table. Each has a piece of tape across the front with crudely-written titles on them. I have to go by smell to know which one Dad smokes, which I know Eggsy won't allow me to do.

"Your dad likes this one, but you could bother to be original and get him this," he hands me a bag, and I can't decipher whatever title he's written on it.

I scowl, and point at a nearly-full bag. "What's that?"

"It's more than you can afford," he is ready to shove it back into the nightstand, but I try to stop him. My hand grabs his wrist, and he turns hostile fast.

"Look, Dad's been depressed. Can I please just get a gram?" And now I'm becoming weak.

"You think it's so special that your dad is depressed? Try living like that your whole life," he scowls, putting each bag away. "Just go, Hesketh. I won't tell anyone you were here, just go."

I stand taller, and then slouch down a bit.

"Let's make a deal then, yeah? I get a gram of whatever that is, and you get something. Whatever you want from me."

He thinks it over, and he seems to be picking his battles wisely. As I wait for his answer, I reflect on how weak I'm acting right now. God, I'm making myself sick.

Eggsy takes the bag out, along with a smaller bag and a measuring spoon.

He seals it up, with the mashed up weed, and holds it out to me.

"What's the catch?" I ask, not ready to take the bag until I hear what torture he's devised for me.

"At 11 you're going to meet me at the steps. The steps on my level."

I nod. Actually, I could pretty easily blow him off, but now I'm a bit intrigued, I have to say. It also wouldn't be too wise to blow him off. Then again, it'd just be more abuse towards him from his stepdad and I could get off scot-free if he doesn't say anything.

But, now I made a bargain with Eggsy, and I have to keep up my end of it.

He sends me off, his mum waving at me while she tends to her sleeping baby, and I'm back out the door.

I'm not exactly sure what Eggsy has in store for me, but I am quite curious as to what it will be. Until then, I just have to wait and grow the smallest bit anxious as to what's going to happen once I meet him at the steps.

I slip the bag into Dad's hand, as gently as I can, and then I am back upstairs, sitting in my room and waiting.

 


End file.
